perihelion

life surges
thru tendrils of tethered tenderness
ambered terra rosa pulsing with the need for sun
SUN
bolstered to earth by gravity & axil tilt & speed
we ride 
life surges
and
across our aging, freckled & pale skin
the furrows & rivulets of passion & presence tremble & taunt us to rise
despite the swollen tubers of tissue & undergrowth
gasping for air as some newborn with pink silk folding
we greet the first strong rays of Spring's promise
standing upon cold ground -
soil & life beats beats beats along filling the narrowed cavities of our bones
with lightening, solitude, knowing, desire, youth, fragility & forgiveness
we fill
we breathe
we ride
tasting of morning & the solar flares of our own Spring

our own green life 
surges  ...

Dante's dart

i remember quite clearly the night i took on the worlds sadness as my own
pink baby-doll pajamas with ruching of blue flowers
8 yrs old gold
kneeling on a canopy bed
leaning upon the open window sill
leaning
and
gazing into the world
late
dark
quiet
twinkling stars
unable to fend off this as yet unnamed despair i tasted on that blue moonlight on snow night
a parade of heartache, loneliness & pain leaked under my skin leaving its burn ...
. . . an ancient, folded & forgotten mahogany woman pacing to & fro across some cracked damp floor
. . . a solitary soldier cold & wet loosing his humanity with every step,
there -
. . . a frightened child with dark eyes hiding from the sharp sting of thoughtlessness
. . . a small boney white dog homeless, not understanding how gentle hands can be
a stolen life
a fearful task
a lonely death
dantes dart landed upon my heart
no amount of pink groovy psychedelic sunshine could stop the march upon the fabric of my soul
so began my ritual, my telling mark:
kneeling upon my pink groovy bedspread in my pink groovy sunshine life
every nite
gazing out & up at the stars wishing for strength
wishing for magic
wishing for enough love to shoulder
dantes dart

the feel of things ….

Tight crinoline of a dress - starch-unyielding
gingham bows bold & blue
the softness of one older & plumb with everything good and enfolding
warmth of hands holding
embracing …
to
a walk down paths - trails forested
the feel of unbidden dreams and stolen things :
moments
objects of no poetic meaning,
june sunlight on the backs of wee hands
marveling at the tenderness of violets
and
the smooth manipulation of grass, glass and ideals
to
freedom gained by acquisition and wheels
wind
always feeling the wind  . . .
to
the solitude of things
corners dark
camouflaged by vision boards of
mad hatters and meadowlarks
soon
electric sexuality rising to command the gamma rays of the sun
and
the
color of night
to
the feel of contrast :
your skin on my skin
calling
me
home
to
sunlight tighness, crinoline poetry, electric freedom, star rides & open spaces
the smell of grass
and
the feel of wind  . . .
the stolen gray of tenderness
found
in the feel of things

shift

sometimes ....
when one is not looking,
not paying close enough attention
a shift occurs
a shift in the earth beneath your feet
a shift in the focus & light gleaning into the circus kaleidoscope
the colors mute and bleed, leaving one
less full
shapes can not be determined, purple becomes blue becomes green becomes
grey
puzzling
over the events that could crash about one in puddles & shards of emptiness
the fog rolls in cold & hollow - veiling the light
the indigo bubbles fail to rise and your soul is left
in a labyrinth of regret & desire
circling as a thin, grey wolf would
hunt: solitary & famished
empty
how does one keep striving in the shift
how does one believe in the power of .... love
darkness aches for the wound in the soul
and yet .....
there is a smell ....
earth & moistness
something alive and new ....
really ?
or is it merely another trick of the kaleidoscope
shake it

hard

close your eyes and listen ....
there.

raise. it . up.

if only we could take the words we fall to ....
words of disbelief
to words of prayer & light
and
weave them into a celestial net of comfort & right
weave them tightly to silver moon hope
and
december's stars . . .
until we are lifted tenderly to a place of better
held closer to truth
and
tethered
to illuminated love

price

Why do we scourge ourselves for our humanness?
for crimes real, temporal
or imagined frailty?
for silly weakness or tender bruising
for being in the wrong place at the wrong time
or perceptions tainted & unsure
when do we let go and recognize
the toll was happiness
happiness in all its glory & divinity
when do we
step up & fight
for
the missing part
the burst of right
the trace of turquoise light
our cracks and fractures shift & part
as our broken bones & souls take flight
there all along apparent or veiled
there all along
we are whole & complete
every choice cuts to bone
so trust in your heart
and
find your way home

Today ….

The Wednesday Poetry Corner on The Plum Tree
find me here ….